Magically Aperture
by goodsamaritanbear
Summary: Wheatley. Hogwarts. He needs ALL the luck.
1. Chapter 1

Silence fell over the Great Hall. Before the students had been murmuring or talking excitedly, now they stared.

They knew the boy. Most everyone knew. Rumors had spread quickly and all eyes widened. Once the shock settled, they started up again.

"Bloke blew out all the windows in the car on the way here—"

"Prefects were livid!"

"He's odd—"

"—Related to the Potions professor—"

"—Thought he was a Squib at first—"

"Can't control anything—"

"—Breaks everything—"

"—A disaster—"

"Stupid—"

"Moron."

"I hope he isn't sorted into _my _house."

Wheatley didn't hear a thing, he had more important matters. Like the ratty hat sitting on his head that was going to determine the next seven year of his life.

_Ratty, is it? _

He blinked in surprise. That's right. The hat can bloody _think! _

_Not much brain in here, boy. _

That sounded like the governess he had growing up, he thought, a little sadly. He may have been holding onto the hope that _maybe _he was a genius of some sort. Just misunderstood. God knew he always _tried_ his best. It just never turned out right in the end. Never was _his _fault, really. Like the cat in the courtyard when he was nine, just a mistake. He didn't know that the governess's medallion was cursed. Or the paintings in the foyer, that had been awful. Or even today, with the windows on the Express. He had _meant _to impress the pretty girl. She had smiled at him. He wanted to show off his wand. It had been accident, really—

_Not much nerves either. _

And that sounded like his father, Wheatley cringed outright at the memory. He was 110 pounds of lanky, clumsy, limbs, sticks really. _Of course_, he ran from bullies. What was _he_ to do when they were picking on the little ones? That kid had looked like a scrapper even if the others were two feet taller than him. His father didn't approve of the obviously wiser choice of running. His father didn't approve of him in general. A general disappointment. Always running away, always messing things up, always having to apologize.

_Well then—_

No one ever bothered to apologize to him! They could have mentioned something. Anything. Hey there, Wheats, this little bugger right here is pretty important and dangerous, don't hang it about the cat's neck. Wheatley, dear, I'm sorry you had to face those scary bullies. There really wasn't anything you could do. Oh, Wheatley, be a dear and be careful with your new wand around glass; it tends to shatter all of it.

No one could be bothered to even listen to him.

_I say—_

Well, he'll show them. Thought he was magicless and a failure. That was _wrong. _Letter on his eleventh birthday, on the dot. No question about it. This boy's a wizard! And he's going to be the greatest wizard! He'll impress everyone and he'll be popular and no one will call him a moron again.

Wheatley paused in his thoughts, realizing the hat was quiet. He craned his neck up, as if he could see its button-eyed expression over the wide brim.

_Good luck with that, boy. _

Then it shifted over his head and he heard cry out to his surprise:

"SLYTHERIN!"


	2. Chapter 2

"Hello?"

Chell looked up from her cauldron in surprise and annoyance. The potion required all of her attention, all her focus or it could all backfire on her. Even now it bubbled and smoked, threatening to turn that sickly pale green and—

"Anyone in here?" The rapping at the door increased, frantic and worried. Chell looked down, sliding the black powder and stirring deliberately, reaching for the vial of seeds. Just a little longer…

"Can you open the door? Please! I need—"

Whatever he needed, Chell did not hear. As if sentient, the potion gurgled and before paling and phoof. Suddenly she was blind and her ears rang as she reared back from the clouds of black smoke. An oily, rank residue of pale green potion coated the front of her person. Snatching up her cloak, Chell began to wipe her face as the door burst open.

"AAAH!" She looked up at the scream of surprise, squinting through the gunk running into her eyes. He was looking her up and down, obviously wondering just why she was in an empty classroom was covered in slime.

"You look_ terrib_—" The boy paused, looking over his shoulder into the hallway, and gave Chell an apologetic smile. "Good. Looking good, actually."

She rolled her eyes, she knew this boy. A Slytherin. Same year as her. They had Charms together. Wheatley…Wheatley Stulte.

He was hurrying to close the door, looking about and hurrying to a corner of the nearly empty classroom Chell had been using to work. After a few moments of looking for something the boy seemed to remember she was there. Stulte turned, and scratched his head. "So…umm…are you okay?" She opened her mouth to speak, but Stulte kept looking back to the door fearfully and continued in his worried babble before she could. "Sorry, don't answer that, I'm sure you're fine! A bit of muck, yeah, nothing big, I see that. Just um. Don't say anything, okay?" And he ducked behind a few stacked tables and out of sight.

Chell blinked, furrowing her brow, when the door opened for a second time. Two older boys, fourth years, stomped into the room, searching around. She recognized them, both Gryffindors: Rick and Ira. Gryffindors and bullies, to the shame of their house. Chell was not too surprised that they were chasing a blabbering kid like Stulte.

One turned to her, frowning, "Did a skinny blond come in here?"

She shook her head. The boys looked like trouble, angry. She didn't want to start anything, or put Stulte in a bad position. Even if it appeared he had gotten himself into one. Chell started to back away, when the other boy dragged out a kicking, panicking Stulte from behind the tables.

"Hah, I got 'em, Rick!" Ira shoved Stulte towards the other boy, laughing.

"Thought you could get away," Rick gripped the Slytherin by his collar, pulling out his wand and tapping Stulte's nose with it. "I bet you were bothering this little lady here. Man, I hate Slytherins, but they're fun to beat up."

Ira took the kid from Rick and lifting his wand up for a spell, "I'll say."

"Stop it!"

The boys looked at Chell, blinking. Was she that forgettable? Chell hadn't moved since they came in. She had her wand out, and she was frowning. Stulte, whatever he had done, hardly looked a match for a kitten, let alone two fourth year Gryffindor boys.

"Hey now, little lady," Rick smiled, "We got this, you just take a break, he won't be bothering you."

"Just leave him alone…We'll get points taken away if he tells." Chell shook her wand. "'Sides, you're just being bullies."

Ira rolled his eyes, stepping towards Chell, "Look, brat, no one's going to tell. _Got it_?"

"Expelliarmus!"

Ira's wand flew out of his hand, and all three boys stared at this small, slimed girl, glaring at them with hard, fearless eyes.

But Ira was more enraged than surprised, and he came closer, clenching his fists. Chell wrinkled her nose, preparing a stupefy when Rick took his friend's shoulder.

"Hey there, we don't mess with girls, Ira. Don't be an idiot. If the little lady wants to protect the moron, let her."

Ira took a few moments to glare at Chell, then scoffed, retrieving his wand. "God, I hate first years. You're a real pushover, Rick. Letting some brat scare ya."

Rick shrugged, hands in his pockets. "Gotta play nice with the ladies, Ira. No glory scaring little girls. It's not like that moron's worth it anyway."

When they were gone, and Wheatley took a few long moments to make sure they weren't going to change their minds and come back and beat him bloody, Wheatley brushed himself off and smiled down at the girl. Yeah, okay, he recognized her, now that he was looking past the grime. She rarely spoke in Charms, but she was always surrounded by other girls, Wheatley had never had the chance to talk to her. But she was smart, whenever Professors did call on her, she had an answer. _Her_ spells never backfired on her as far as he knew. _And_ she wasn't afraid of those guys.

"Um, hey, thanks for that." He tugged at the tie very loosely and badly knotted around his neck.

The girl nodded nonchalantly and turned to her cauldron, cleaning it with a flick of her wrist, and packing her materials inside it.

"You're…um, you're really good ya know. Knowing all those spells. Pretty talented witch, you are. And really brave, standing up to those guys, and erm, you know, for some bloke you don't know. I can see why you're in Gryffindor: brave and all that. Bet you're not afraid of anything. Bet you're always helping people out, using magic so easily. Hey! Wait!"

Once everything was accounted for, she was hefting up her cauldron and moving towards the door. When he noticed she was leaving, Chell stopped, turning to him with an upraised brow.

"Erm. W-well, you see," Wheatley smiled nervously and held out his hand. Chell stared at it, from ten feet away and chuckled. He took that as a good sign and came closer. "I'm Wheatley Stulte, Slytherin, obviously. You're erm…"

"Chell. Chell Itus." She said, taking his offered hand and shaking it twice.

"Yeah, I knew that. So, um, you're just a first year, too? You're really brilliant, ya know. I bet you know you that, you just looked those guys in the eyes and didn't flinch or anything. Even being a girl, and all smelly—eh! I mean, not that smelly really—"

"I need to go," Chell shook her head, turning again, "see you in class, Stulte."

"Right, then! In class, I'll see you," Wheatley called out, as she pushed the door open, "In Charms! Save me a seat!"

Chell chuckled to herself, not realizing that she had just inadvertently volunteered herself as Wheatley Stulte's new best friend.


	3. Chapter 3

1.2 Chell and the Not-Half-Bad Idiot

Wheatley learned three things in his pursuit of friendship with the Gryffindor, Chell:

Chell didn't talk much.

Not that she was timid or shy, she simply did not see the need to talk when a nod or gesture will do. Very odd, but Wheatley supposed there was logic in the idea. Her silence could be intimidating, downright scary it was, being stared down by those grave gray eyes. Her silence could silence him when she got angry enough. Impressive, very impressive.

Chell was also very serious.

All the time. While other girls were giggling and downright silly, Chell would give a soft half-smile and go about her studies. She was content to listen, to participate, but rarely contribute. Fun seemed a foreign concept that Chell keep at arm's length, and Wheatley wondered why. She was accepted easily enough, he did not know why she was so different from her friends.

He started right away. Looking for in the Great Hall and settling beside her, on the outskirts of her group. Following her to the classes they shared and quickly claiming seats for the both of them. Looking for her in the library and the empty classroom she used for brewing her potions.

She would always look up at him, blink, and go back to whatever she was doing; but when he asked her a question, she answered with a gesture if possible, or a brief response. But she never asked him to leave. She never balked at his presence. And she never forced him away. And to Wheatley, who had been either shunned, or barely tolerated, he treated it as an invitation to continue.

And that was the third thing: Chell was ungodly patient.

What she lacked in social ability, she made up with a fierce tenacity. A refusal to give up on any assignment, and to put up with him. It was refreshing, having someone to talk to, who didn't roll their eyes and the like. Someone to finally appreciate all he had to say. Someone who could just give him that little bit of help he needed. Just a bit of help.

Chell chalked up her new…companion to his very desperate need of someone to talk to. Because that's what he did. He talked. And talked. And talked.

However, he was very entertaining. While most of his rather one-sided conversations were nonsense with no proper train of thought, he was funny. He always spoke him mind, no matter if it was wise or not. The mental filter that should have told him what was rude or would incite anger did not function properly. Sometimes he showed enough wisdom to stop himself mid-sentence; most times he didn't and Chell wound up talking down the offended or forcing Wheatley to apologize.

She had stood up for him, and he had latched onto her like a desperate puppy for protection and attention.

But it wasn't half-bad.

She didn't hate the other Gryffindors, but she couldn't connect with them. They sensed something different about her. And Chell had a good idea what it was. Once, Muggle-Borns, Half-Bloods, and Full-Bloods existed together just fine, after the Second Dark Wizard War. Magic was dying, and all wizards and witches had been needed to carry on the gifts.

There was peace and all Magical beings came together.

Then, some crazy man in the Ministry of Magic messed everything up. Everything. He had been fixed on Muggle science, absolutely fascinated. She didn't understand what had happened, she hadn't even been born. But the wizarding population plummeted. Muggle-borns disappeared, and Half-Bloods were treated warily. Chell had overheard once that Science was the reason. Some horrible monstrosity had been the cause, people had died. People had changed.

Chell didn't want anyone to know that her origins were…questionable. Distance between her and everyone was the best bet. She didn't want to be treated differently, like a freak, like a .

But Wheatley wasn't half-bad. He treated her with a mix of respect and arrogance. His family was old blood, but he was a pariah of his own. He couldn't help his personality, and she partly appreciated the attention he gave her, and partly wrinkled her nose at it.

"—And well, me, being just a small, curious little bugger, snuck into the room and took the shiny amulet. Not my fault, really, if you think about it. Real pity though, what happened to the cat—Why are you smiling like that?"

Chell started, looking up from her lunch. Wheatley stared, big blue eyes wide, one eyebrow cocked up high. Her attention had drifted and he noticed for once. She shrugged, taking a sip of the pumpkin juice. He stared still, and Chell stared back now, not blinking or even apologizing for not giving him the fullest attention.

But then, she said, "I recalled how we met."

He snorted and looked away, the smallest hint of a blush on his face. "That was bloody two years ago, why would you go thinking about that?"

She shrugged again, tilting her goblet back and forth.

"You were covered in that rank slime! I remember, never asked about that, did I? I figured it was just some Gryffindor thing."

A snort escapes, and Chell shakes her head. "I was working on a Potions' assignment."

"You had to cover yourself in slime for homework? Is that Advanced Potions, I've never heard of that. Don't really see what the appeal would be, quite honestly. I mean, I guess if the slime did something besides stink. Like, made you strong, or invisible. Though, I guess it might have made you fearsome. I remember, you stepping in before I could properly counter those smelly Gryffindor thugs."

Like always, Chell nods away, still smiling. It had taken her a year to smile like that, easily, without the fear of something snatching it away. A year of this bumbling bugger who wouldn't leave her alone, a year of learning that even though he obviously was attempting to use her, he couldn't help but be charming and funny. He begged for help in class, and hid behind her when threat emerged, and Chell thought that maybe she should stop volunteering to fight his battles. How could she though, after he returned laughter and silliness in a drab, dark and serious world of hers?

"—I'd think that'd be a brilliant idea? A potion that could turn your hair different colors! Imagine, being a blonde, like me! Not that your color is bad or anything just that, a potion could make it a bit more…shiny. Oh! speaking of Potions, did you hear? We have a new professor this year. Heard the History of Magic teacher talking about it that Advanced Charms teacher...erm...oh! Professor Atlas."

"Hm?"

"I don't know much about it, but, let's see, Prof Johnson, old wench she is, can you believe she gave me ten detentions last year? She's bloody mad! Not my fault if she didn't explain that inflammable and flammable mean the blood same thing. But anyway, Old Johnson started the year but decided she couldn't take 'nother round of torturing poor students, I suppose. Just up and retired, just like that. So they had to hire a new one, someone from the Ministry volunteered."

Chell nodded, gathering up the books she had planned on looking through. Potions, she thought. Johnson she could handle, old, and a tense kind of concentrated friendly that bordered on creepy. She had been fair though, Wheatley was just a bad student. Chell often dreaded Potions class. Before she only need sit in the corner. Now, she had responsibilities. Because Wheatley, though fun and sweet, somehow became her responsibility.

She sighed, how would this new professor be? how would they react to the...mess of Wheatley. She was up and walking away, probably outside. Wheatley scooped up his things and a handful of chips from the table as he followed her. He was talking again, about this new professor, not that he knew anything concrete. But suddenly she wasn't in the mood to listen, or pretend to listen, to his ramblings. Her gut tightened and she shivered. Before she could tell him to shut up, however, he stopped midsentence. A sense of cold fear dropped over her, and Chell looked at Wheatley, who had indeed ceased to talk.

The doorway to the fairly empty Great Hall was blocked by a tall, very severe looking woman. Hard, harsh eyes surveyed the Hall, looking over the few students and then, finally, falling on Chell and Wheatley. Eyes that were a yellow bright and calculating.

"Speak of the devil," he whispered to Chell, who clenched her books so tightly her knuckles were turning ashen. "I think that's the professor there, my father works in the Ministry and she looks familiar. Works in the Research Branch, I think. Her name'sd-"

"Gladys."

Chell shivered and began to step back just as Wheatley pushed her forward.

"We should introduce ourselves! We'll make a good impression and she'll be nicer to me-us."

She couldn't turn and run, or, she couldn't get her legs to turn and run. Chell bit her lip. As soon as her body remembered that Chell was in charge, the professor was right in front of her, eyes locked on her face.

"Allo, Professor Gladys!" Wheatley smiled, full bright, cheery charm. "I'm-"

"Ah."

The voice, just as cold as everything else about the woman, shut Wheatley up quick. Chell couldn't look away, Chell couldn't run, couldn't speak.

The woman stepped even closer, she was so tall, and Chell felt so small. Gladys leaned forward until their eyes were level. Chell saw intelligence there, an astounding level of intelligence. She saw pride as well. She saw anger. And, worst of all, Chell saw recognition.

"_It's __**you.**_"


	4. Chapter 4 It's been a Long Time

(Look! I'm alive. I'm sorry. Don't hate me. I saw all your favouriting and commenting and I was always astounded by you amazing people, liking my story...finding my story after so long since the last update... Fantastic. Just fantastic. So…I finally got my stuff together to bring you another development. Don't hate me. If there are still people who are interested in this little bit of fic, let me know in the comments.)

_Age: Thirteen years. Third Year. Height: Four feet, eleven inches. Race: unknown. Ability: unknown. Build: Athletic. _

_Tense. _

_Scared. _

_Angry._

_Cautious. _

_And to think she was once cautious herself of this person. _

_"It's been a long time." Gladys's eyebrows barely rose as she spoke, her face barely moved. A marble bust would show more expression. Gladys bent forward, taking Chell's chin in hand and tilting it forward. Then to the side, to the other. No scars, no marks. A beautiful specimen. Perfect again. And that was just brilliant. _

Wheatley stood off to the side, dodging that glare of the professor. He watched as slowly Chell's own gaze began to harden from surprise to her own form of anger. He was pretty sure the temperature actually dropped.

"It's been a long time." Gladys bent forward, placing a hand under Chell's chin, tilting it forward and then to side, as if she were inspecting the girl. The way an aunt greeted a precious niece. Or a collector inspected a possibly faulty piece of merchandise. Wheatley blinked a few times, his heart beginning to quicken and he didn't know why. Something about the way they didn't break the gaze, the way Chell's body seemed to be shaking so thoroughly under her cloak that she vibrated.

"How have you been?" Professor Gladys straightened her back, towering over them again. So tall, Wheatley wrinkled his nose, taking a step further, to place Chell directly between the new professor and himself. The iciness of her voice, not even trying to hide the dripping disdain, it spoke volumes. Volumes and volumes that he did not quite understand.

But it wasn't directed at him for once, and he didn't plan on it changing targets, so Wheatley held his tongue. And, of course, so did Chell. She stood, straight, jaw clenched and Wheatley watched her chest expand in a sudden, sharp intake of breath.

When she finally broke the staring match—that's what it seemed like to Wheatley— it was like cutting a taut cord. The tension broke and dissipated. Chell flicked a glance to her left and right, to all the students and teachers in the Great Hall, all sitting and talking and laughing and paying no mind to the third year and the new teacher.

Chell smiled, dipped her head ever so slightly, turned on her heel and briskly walked away. Wheatley froze, suddenly under the stare of this woman's piercing yellow eyes. It didn't take him a beat of his pounding heart any longer to turn tail and follow after Chell, taking wide, hasty strides.

He felt safer as soon as they were out of the Great Hall, out of sight out of mind. But Chell kept going, nearly running, staring straight ahead. Wheatley followed, unsure what to do, confused, but he followed.

"Chell, are you alright? Did you forget something? I forgot to ask her if she knew my father, I bet she does. Not that I'd want to hold a longer conversation with her, eh? Bloody scary woman, and _yellow_ eyes, I wonder what that's about? Even without them, she'd be a frightful sight. Even you looked scared—"

"I am not scared of her!"

Chell reared up on him, making Wheatley skid to a stop and quickly back up. Here's another one with scary eyes. Chell's greys bore down on him. Bore up at him, really. Wheatley pulled at his collar, giving himself some air, backing up, away from Chell. She had been angry at him before…but not so fiercely, so sharply. She had certainly never snapped at him. Chell scoffed, turning back around and hurrying down the hall. Only a moment of hesitation before Wheatley continued after her.

She only slowed when they came to a door that opened up the courtyard. She opened the door and took a deep, desperate breath of fresh air. Chell stepped out into the courtyard, slowly, until she came to the ring of green, lush grass around a small fountain. She leaned over the fountain's brim, doubling over and taking rapid, panicked gasps. Like she had been holding her breath the entire time.

Wheatley came up behind her, ringing his tie. There was no one else in the courtyard, he wasn't even sure he had ever been here before, or even seen it. The way Chell's shoulders relaxed at last, though, Wheatley thought that maybe she came here often without him. He stared at her back for a long while as her breathing slowed from panicked panting to a slower, controlled rhythm. And though her shoulders were no longer bunched up at her ears, Chell was still shaking.

"So, do you know her?"

Chell's head came up once and back down, but she didn't look at him.

"Not friendly though?"

A slow shake to either side.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Chell lowered herself to the ground, leaning against the raised fountain. She shook her head as she hugged her knees to herself.

"Oh." Wheatley shifting his weight from one foot to the other. "Erm…well…I guess I should go?"

He waited for an affirmation. It seemed like the thing to say. That's what you did, right? You left a mate alone when they were having an episode? At least, Chell didn't seem like someone who liked people hovering over her. And God, he didn't want her to glare at _him_ like that again.

But Chell looked up at Wheatley. Her lip quivered, slightly, so slightly he barely caught it. But he did. And suddenly, he didn't want her to be alone. What if she wasn't okay? What if she changed her mind and then she wouldn't have anyone to talk to. And then she would be cross with him for leaving, right?

Wheatley plopped down beside her, smiling to see her expression change to surprise instead of that pallid, sickly look of fear.

"Well, I guess we'll have to sit here in silence, right? I don't mind. I like meditating, that's what it is right, meditating? I think it's fun, clears your mind. Sometimes I sit in the morning and…erm…take a count of 50? Yeah, 50. Slow and steady, letting myself relax and when I'm done, I know I'm ready to start the day. I could take on anything. Yep, nothing like a good, long period of silence. Nothing like it at all. You could say I'm a bit of an expert of sitting alone and enjoying my own company. Yep. Good ol' reliable silence. One time—"

"Wheatley."

Chell was looking at him again, the corner of her mouth twitching up. He stared back, mouth hanging open slightly before gulping and looking up at the sky. He lifted one of his arms and ruffled Chell's hair, something he had never done before. She had never seemed so…vulnerable though. Wheatley couldn't think of a single time she had been, well, scared. Never. Not that she was. She had said so herself.

"S-sorry. Guess talking about meditating isn't actually meditating. Though I guess there is some calming effects of talking, I know I always talk when I get stressed or nervous or scared—"

"Wheatley."

"Oh, sorry."

"You meditate?" Chell cocked an eyebrow, her voice was low, distant, not actually focused on here and now.

"I said I did, didn't I?" Wheatley cleared his throat. "Meditate. Meditate. Meditating. Well it's all about the breathing, right? Let's try again. Meditate, Med. . Let's start with…erm. Oh! Counting. Let's count. Ready? One…two…three…"

Chell stared but joined in on the count of twelve when she realized he wasn't going to stop. Her heart was still racing but she focused on Wheatley's voice, his sure, silly counting, and joined him. Focus on the here, on now. Not the past.

Not…_her. _


End file.
